Warnings; eating disorders, smoking, adult language, and terrible writing.
This is a by product of watching too much skins.
Don't feel to pressured to give me feedback. It's not like an author thrives off it, you know.
"You're kidding me."
Albus Dumbledore smiled knowingly at the dark young girl over the mahogany dinner table. In his decades of teaching, and visiting the homes of young muggle-born children for the first time to invite them to his school, he had seen brilliant minds, and not so brilliant minds.
He had seen eleven year old girl's and boy's faces light up upon hearing that the fantasy world they had read about in books and seen on television was reality. He had seen expressions of curiosity, disbelief, and even horror.
But it was quite rare that he ever saw the look of morbid amusement that danced upon Violet Lukin's pale face as the Headmaster spoke.
"You've got to be kidding me. Great joke mum, get a great big robed man with a beard down to his ankles to tell me I'm a real witch. Was this one of the counselor's plans to get me to be more expressive? He's really gone to the extremes this time."
"No, I- I swear.."
It was quite pitiful how a mother could cower under her eleven year old daughter's aggressive gaze.
"Really Violet, it would explain a lot.."
"Except that magic isn't real!"
"Oh but it is, Violet! Magic is as real as you or me," Dumbledore pressed, with a twinkle in his eye. "At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you can learn all about magic, and even perform magic, to your wildest imaginations."
It was five years ago today that Violet Lukin found out about the Wizarding World. It had turned out, in fact, that magic was very much real, and had changed her life dramatically over the course of the last five years.
She had learnt courses of magic, taken exams, made friends, and then lost them. She had made terrible mistakes.
In a short three weeks, she would be rejoining the magical world.
Looking in the bathroom mirror for the first time in days, she didn't think she was ready.
Pale, fat, and ugly. Bleached hair matted and dirty, from weeks of not looking after it, reached down to her middle back, her dark brown roots showing through the white blonde. She smelled terrible from lack of showering. She hadn't left the house since she arrived home from school, and all she had done was eat and sleep. It showed.
How was she going to get anyone to like her again if she was so damn ugly?
She undressed out of her shabby pyjamas and walked into a hot shower, determinedly and roughly scrubbing every inch of her body.
I'm finally going to stop lying around feeling sorry for myself, Violet told herself, as she towel dried her hair and stepped naked onto old, dusty scales.
130lb.
Violet felt a familiar suffocating sadness settle on her chest as a dry sob choked in her throat. Taking deep breaths, she refused to cry, instead wrapped a towel around her waist, and walked down the hall to her room.
Violet's bedroom was in a similar state to her. Dark, disorganized and cluttered.
She didn't bother to turn the light on as she dressed in a loose floral tank top tucked into a black high waist pencil skirt with a black cardigan, followed by dark tights and combat boots, or as she applied layers of make up, and blow dried her hair. She wasn't even sure if it worked any more.
Studying herself in the mirror, she reached into a handbag lying carelessly on the floor, and lit a cigarette. She looked every part the troubled teen she seemed to be.
She glanced back at her open trunk on the floor, overflowing with candy wrappers, old clothes and school robes, crinkled parchment, everything else hadn't bothered to unpack over the last month. Sitting on top of the mess however, was a small, unopened envelope, on it marked in bright green ink;
Miss Violet Skye Lukin,
43 Cadogan Street, Chelsea.
It arrived three days ago, with a small tawny owl pecking at her window, and she'd merely chucked it aside. But today was as good as any to face demons.
Violet sat on her dishevelled bed, and blew a lungful of dirty smoke onto the rough parchment, opening the seal carefully with her free fingers.
Dear Ms. Lukin,
Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from Kings Cross Station, platform nine and three quarters, at eleven o'clock. Fifth years are required to take OWL's and we trust that you will take them very seriously. Remedial courses will be under way for those who need them.
A list of books for the year is enclosed.
Yours sincerely,
Professor M. McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress.
Violet skimmed over the letter several times before her breathing eased. She butt out the cigarette into a plate on the floor and pulled out the last page.
Fifth year students will require;
The Standard Book of Spell, Grade 5 by Miranda Goshawk
Complex Potion Brewing, Grade 5 by Sabre Fox
Defending Yourself Against the Dark Arts by Tobias Fredricks
The Practice of Dueling by Fabian Goldsmith
Surviving OWL's by Kathryn Venning
There. That didn't seem so bad.
Violet skimmed the letter over a few more times over, and stood with butterflies in her stomach.
Stuffing her book list, wand, purse, and deodorant in her handbag, she headed downstairs to the kitchen, where she found her mother at the kitchen table, looking drawn, reading yesterday's paper with a coffee between clasped hands.
"Why are you out of bed, darling?" She asked vaguely, glancing up before going back to her reading. "You're dressed. Are you going somewhere?"
"Yeah. Yeah I'm doing my school shopping." Violet replied, eyes glued to the back of her mother's head.
"Oh that's nice dear. Don't stay out too late."
"It's only ten thirty."
"Oh, that's nice. Hmm."
"I'm thinking of getting a nipple piercing."
At the lack of reply, Violet picked up a small vase filled with several dying roses, let it linger in her fingers for a few seconds, then let it drop.
Jo Lukin gave a start at the smash, and turned around to her daughter with a look of terror on her face.
Flashing a sarcastic smile, Violet walked through the glass, crushing it under her combat boots, and out the door.
"Where are my fucking cigarettes?" Violet cried to herself as she walked out of the chemist, hair bleach, purse, phone, deodorant, and every single receipt that was at the bottom of her bag in hand, staring at the bottomless pit as though they'd magically appear, which is what the young witch hoped.
Dumping everything back in her bag, ignoring disgruntled looks from passerbys, she set off down the pathway to the nearest bus stop to Charing Cross Road, throwing her hands up in frustration.
There was a enormous bang, and a huge, bright purple bus sped down the road toward her at an alarming speed. Looking around wildly, nobody else seemed to have noticed, or was paying it no mind. Surely even muggles aren't daft enough to not see a great big triple decker bus, which had now parked in front of her.
It was definitely magical.
She stared up at it in awe.
The door opened with a flourish and a lanky, spotty boy with straw coloured hair in a uniform the same colour as the bus stepped off.
"'Ello." He greeted warmly. "You called for the Knight Bus, eh?"
"Uh. What?" Violet asked dumbly.
"Stuck ya' wand hand out, din'cha?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Name's Sam Fairfax, I'll be ya' conductor. And this is Ernie, innit?" Sam pointed to a small wizard at the wheel of the bus, who paid no attention.
She sat on the first available seat, ignoring how filthy it was, and the snores of the sleeping elderly witch behind her.
"And how much does this cost?"
"Where ya' headed, darl'?"
"The Leaky Cauldron."
"Six sickles. But for eight ya get 'ot chocolate, and for ten ya get biscuits of your choosin'."
"Um," Violet dug through her purse and held a hand of muggle money forward. "I don't have any sickles, sorry." She apologized lamely.
"Not ta worry!" Sam cried gleefully, snatching the coins out of her palm and staring at each one in wonder.
"Leaky Cauldron, Ern!"
There was another colossal bang, and Violet was thrown back in her seat as they accelerated forward at amazing speeds, weaving in and out of traffic.
Violet felt herself go green and clenched her jaw shut against the rising nausea. Why must all wizard transport be so extreme.
"Wanna biscuit?" Sam asked, waving a rusty tin in front of her face. She shook her head violently as another wave of nausea hit. "Don't say much, do ya?"
The pale witch was glad to arrive out the front of the small, dingy pub. Thanking Sam and Ernie, the small bespectacled wizard, she made her way inside, fighting the anxiety that threatened to rise over the small crowd.
Tom the barkeep smiled warmly at her as always as she weaved her way through the room, trying not to bump or push anyone. She made her way out the back, took a deep breath, readying herself, and tapped the wall with her wand in the familiar pattern.
This was it. Diagon Alley. Get in; get out before seeing anyone from Hogwarts.
Easy.
Violet quickly changed her pounds over to galleons at Gringotts, and strode down the busy street, looking longingly at the ice cream parlour that sparked up hunger pains, and disregarded Madam Malkins Robes for All Occasions and Quality Quidditch Supplies, for she didn't need new robes, or a broomstick. She was bullocks at Quidditch.
She slipped into Flourish and Blotts, where there were several other children her age already browsing the shelves. Ignoring the stab of anxiety from her stomach, she quickly made her way to the desk and waited for the manager to assist her.
"Mum, I already told you, I don't need every book there is about OWL's! What kind of smart young lad like me needs six books on taking some silly exam?"
The loud, obnoxious voice was quieted by a mother's hush and snickers from another boy.
"A little reading would do you good too, Sirius, dear. Relax whatever it is in your brain that makes you so mischievous. Just look at Remus!"
This was followed by a roar of laughter, and it was obvious to Violet who it belonged to now.
Oh God no, God, no! Anyone but them, please. Where is that damn manager?
There was another boom of laughter behind her, causing Violet to start and turn around. Standing behind her was no other than James Potter, his arms full of heavy books.
"S-Sirius!" He howled, shaking with repressed mirth. "Sirius, come look who it is! It's Violet the boyfriend thief!"